


Today it is heaped at your feet

by asterismal (asterisms)



Series: Whirlpools [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: After a mishap in the Department of Mysteries, Harry Potter is thrown back in time to the summer before Tom Riddle's final year at Hogwarts. While there, he is forced to confront the fact that he knows next to nothing about his nemesis and those who follow him. Unfortunately, as he does his best to learn, he is unable to stay out of Riddle's sight for long, and he is drawn once more into the conflict between light and dark.This time, however, the lines are blurred, and nothing is as simple as he's been led to believe.





	1. Prologue

It begins, as many things do, with the opening of a door.

In this case, it just so happens to be the wrong door.

However, since the only other option is being spelled to submission by a horde of angry death eaters, Harry decides he can’t really afford to be picky. He’s not entirely sure how he was separated from his friends, but he figures that really don’t matter right now. All he needs to worry about is surviving until help arrives. The rest will take care of itself.

He pulls the door shut behind him and presses his back up against it, breathing heavily and clutching his wand in shaking hands. 

The numb that had stolen over his limbs when he realized just how horribly he’d been tricked, when he realized that he’d endangered his friends for nothing, is back. He knocks his head against the solid door once, twice, and then again. 

His scar is bleeding, growing, and he raises a hand to touch it where, since his first year at Hogwarts, it has been ever creeping further down his face. Each year, it expands, a living marker of the Dark Lord’s presence in his life. 

He thinks it will cover everything, if given the chance. 

He traces its groove down and across the bridge of his nose and then back up where it cuts through his eyebrow. He’s surely spread blood all across his face, but he’s become all too accustomed to the feel of blood on his skin, and the warmth is nice, anyway.

This room is cold.

It’s the first thing he notices about it, aside from the darkness. 

After pausing to make sure there is no sound beyond the door at his back, he steps forward and winces at the feel of something like glass cracking beneath the soles of his feet. Doing his best to ignore the unsettling sound, like tiny bones creaking, he makes his way to what he assumes is the center of the room. 

The further he goes, the darker it seems to get, and when he glances back, all he sees in the muddled dark is a sliver a light that marks the entryway. He shivers, takes another step. Stops.

“Lumos.”

He holds his wand high and lets out a shuddering breath. Before him, in what seems to him to be a cruel mockery of the Hall of Prophecy, are rows upon rows of shelves, each one full of golden spheres. He makes his way deeper into the room, unsure why but knowing that it is important. Under his feet, the shattered remains of once golden spheres continue to make themselves known, and as he observes the room, he notices that in the areas with the most broken pieces, the surrounding shelves are bare. 

He moves cautiously along the shelves, walking down row after row, until he comes to stand before a shelf completely devoid of empty space, the floor clean of debris. Ignoring practically every warning he has ever received in regards to unknown magical objects, he reaches out to touch one of the trinkets.

It doesn’t respond. 

Emboldened by this, Harry moves closer, and it is as if all awareness of the world beyond the golden sphere has slipped away. If he can just hold it, he thinks, all will be well. 

He trails the tips of his fingers across the shining surface and sighs at the sound it makes, like the chime of a small bell. In that sound, he hears all that he cannot understand, and he closes his eyes, lost in the waves of promise that lap at his mind.

All will be explained, it sings to him, and Harry smiles.

He closes his hand around the sphere.

He lifts, and it is as if all of the air in the room is sucked inside before being forcibly cast out again, sending out a wave of magic that shatters every sphere within a three meter radius.

When the once golden remains turn transparent as they fall to the floor and settle there, in the hall that has returned to darkness, Harry is not there to see it.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up in the past and meets some of his new neighbors. It's all very peaceful.

 

The first thing Harry notices upon waking up is that he is lying on something soft. He shifts in place, testing to make sure he isn’t restrained, and can’t help an involuntary sigh when he feels cool fabric shift against his heated skin. He presses his head back into the pillow it’s resting upon and opens his eyes to see a vaguely familiar ceiling.

His head pounds in protest of his waking up, and he groans as he turns his head to bury his face in the pillow, as if that could block out the pain.

As he is waiting for the pounding in his temples to subside, he hears the door to the room open. Shuffling footsteps carry the intruder inside, and Harry does his best to focus beyond the pain, catching a soft thump of something being set down nearby before he hears the rustle of curtains being dragged open. Heralded by the sound, a bright light floods the room, staining the insides of his eyelids red and making the pain intensify. 

When he hears the footsteps begin to come closer he lets out a quiet groan and moves his limbs as if he is just waking up, stretching slightly. 

“Oh,” the intruder exclaims.

Harry turns his head toward her and opens his eyes, his vision fuzzy, although he can’t tell if it’s due more to the pain or his lack of glasses. The woman hurries to his side and pulls a chair over so she can sit beside him.

“Hello, dearie,” she says. With the distance between them reduced, Harry can see that she’s older than he first thought, her grey hair pulled into a loose bun atop her head and wrinkles frame her eyes and mouth. Her eyes are dark, but he can’t quite make out the color. “How are you feeling?”

“Headache,” Harry manages to reply. He closes his eyes again. It may be rude of him, but after having seen her kind looking face, he’s reasonably certain that she won’t be too offended. 

“Of course,” she says, seemingly to herself, “I should have seen that one coming.” He hears the chair she was sitting on scape backward, and her footsteps cross the room. She opens a cupboard and retrieves something made of glass that clinks against whatever else was on the shelf. “You were in quite a state when we found you, you know. Scared Hank half to death, you did. Although, you looked half dead yourself, mind.” 

Harry opens his eyes again once he hears her get close enough, and he musters up the energy to get push himself up so he can lean against the headboard rather than lie flat. The woman’s free hand extends as if to help him, but at his nearly imperceptibly flinch, she stops. 

“Sorry,” Harry gasps when he sees her face scrunch in concern. He accepts the vial she hands him and says, “I don’t really like to be touched.”

“I understand,” the woman reassures him, resting her hands in her lap as Harry lifts the vial to smell what’s inside. Even though his marks in potions will never be great, thanks in part to Snape’s bias against him, he’s nowhere near as bad as many believe him to be, and he recognizes the vial as a containing a mild pain-relieving potion. He tips his head back and pours the potion into his mouth, swallowing in one gulp in an attempt to avoid the taste. At his grimace, the woman chuckles.

“Thank you,” he says. 

“You’re most welcome,” she replies. “With Grindelwald at large, we’ve all got to look out for each other.” 

The woman keeps talking as she gets up to dispose of the vial, but Harry stops listening. Grindelwald? Why would he be a concern when he’s been locked up for decades? Unless… He recalls the room of golden spheres and raises a hand to his face, taking in the myriad of small, white scars that contrast starkly against his skin, as if glass had shattered in his hand. The woman turns to walk back to him, and he drops his hand quickly, shoving it beneath the sheet that covers his legs.

As the pain from his headache fades, he looks around, trying to identify why this room feels so familiar despite his lack of glasses and his what appears to be an unfortunate leap through time. The woman is at his bedside once more.

“I’m sorry,” he says, interrupting whatever she was about to say. “But, could you tell me where I am? And also what the date is?” 

The woman sits down beside him again and crosses one leg over the other.

“Of course, dearie,” she says. “Why, I should have done so sooner. We’re in a room at the Leaky Cauldron, right now. It’s June twenty-first, three days since we found you out back.”

“We?” He decides to focus on this first before getting into thoughts of any potential time travel.

“Well, I’m just doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” She tsks at herself and shakes her head. “My name’s Aoide. My husband Hank and I run this place with the help of our son. I stumbled across you a couple mornings ago, and Hank came running soon after. I was quite surprised. After all, it’s not everyday you find a handsome young lad such as yourself collapsed in your back alley.”

Harry feels his cheeks grow warm and pulls his knees up to hide his face, embarrassed by her familiar way of speaking to him, but moreso by how happy it makes him. He’s grown so used to a strange mix of awe and scorn that it feels incredible to have some stranger just ramble at him. If he needs proof that he’s no longer in his own time, her behavior certainly adds credibility to the idea. 

“Thank you for taking me in,” he demures. The woman snorts, not unkindly, and waves off his thanks.

“As I said, we’ve all got to look after one another.” She narrows her eyes at him. “That said, why aren’t you in Hogwarts, young man? Term doesn’t end for another three days.” 

“Umm.” Harry hides his face in his knees once more. He has no clue what to tell her. Obviously, he can’t tell her the truth, but at this point, he can’t think of a convincing lie. “I don’t attend Hogwarts.” 

Thankfully, this seems to be all he needs to say. The woman sighs sadly and a look of understanding crosses her face. 

“Yes, well, more and more people are choosing not to go, nowadays. Your parents still around?”

The look on his face must be answer enough.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she tells him. Harry can only nod in reply, feeling strange. The grief is the same, but in her mind, the source is completely different from the truth. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Um.” Harry fidgets with the sheet before finally asking, “Did you happen to find a pair of glasses when you found me?” 

“We did,” the woman says. She reaches over to the bedside table and grabs something. “Well, to be more accurate, we found some frames. The glass is completely shattered, and since we don’t know what your eyesight’s like, we didn’t bother trying to reset the lenses.”

Harry takes the frames from her hand. 

“Thank you,” he says again. Before she can tell him it’s no bother, he continues. “Do you know a place I can get them fixed? I don’t know the spell.” 

“I can do better than that,” she tells him as she stands up. She takes the frames back and once more sets them on the bedside table “I can take you there, once you’re able to stand on your own two feet again.” 

Harry doesn’t bother thanking her again. Instead, he smiles, and the woman smiles back at him.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, dearie,” she tells him. She pats his shoulder, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Hank and I will take care of you until you’re ready to set out on your own.”

She seems to understand that Harry needs time to process, so with one last smile sent his way, she heads for the door.

As she goes, she calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll have some food delivered once I get down to the kitchen. You must be starving.” 

Then, she shuts the door softly behind her, and Harry is left alone.

…

Over the next two days, Harry recovers enough magical and physical strength to leave his borrowed room, and Aoide carries through on her promise to take him somewhere he can have his glasses fixed. 

His first foray into Diagon since waking up only confirms what he has already accepted. 

Although some shops, such as Ollivanders and Flourish and Blotts, are present in this time, and Gringotts is a familiar, looming shadow, there are shops he doesn't recognize as they walk toward their destination.

What strikes him as most odd about the alley, however, is how quiet it is.

“Is this normal?” he asks, gesturing to the relatively empty streets.

Aoide tightens her hold on his elbow as she guides him along. She purses her lips and then says, “It is for this time of year. The crowds will pick up in a couple weeks.” She chuckles. “Unsettling, isn’t it.”

“A bit,” he replies. He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought it might be because of Grindelwald.”

“Well, it may have been a while ago, but we haven’t had an attack in Britain for months now. Most of the dark activity is centered on the continent, after all.” 

Harry looks around and sees that she’s right. While the alley isn’t crowded, the people who are out are stopping freely to talk to each other, and the peddlers along the sides of the street are as bold as ever. It’s a far cry from the scenes Sirius had described to him one night when he was feeling particularly melancholy. 

“Right,” Harry says. He smiles tightly down at Aoide, and she pats his arm reassuringly. 

“Don’t you worry, dearie,” she says. “As far as Grindelwald is concerned, I’d say there’s nowhere safer than right here.”

Harry just nods. He tries to think back to History of Magic, but Binns is notoriously bad at anything regarding human history, and so he finds he can only recall the fuzziest details about the war with Grindelwald. If he’s being entirely honest, he remembers much more about the Muggle side of things, which is something he and Hermione often lament over, as most of their peers have no clue what the Blitz even was.

Aoide leaves him to his thoughts and continues tugging him along until they reach the shop she was aiming for. 

“Here we are,” she says, gesturing to a somewhat tattered looking building, although he can’t really see it clearly enough to tell. Harry holds the door open for her, and she pats his cheek fondly as she walks in. “Such a gentleman.”

Harry clears his throat and ducks his head sheepishly as he follows her inside. 

In the end, he decides to replace his old frames with a pair that is both thinner and more rectangular in shape, and after a quick checkup which comprised of a potion and three rather complex looking spells, Harry and Aoide leave the shop satisfied.

“Is there anything else you have to do before we head back?” Harry asks as he offers his arm once more. Aoide takes it with a pleased smile and they start walking back toward the Leaky Cauldron.

“Yes, actually. I have to pick up some potions ingredients and then stop at the bookshop near the pub. I also want to check in with some of the other shopkeepers. If you don’t mind, I would very much appreciate your company.” 

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Harry says, surprised to find he means it. Besides, he isn’t going to say no to learning more about his new time. The more he explores, he figures, the faster he’ll get settled and be able to find a way back.

He tags along as Aoide shops, holding her purchases without complaint, mostly due to the fact that they each have a lightening charm applied. At each store, Aoide makes a point to introduce him to the shopkeepers, chatting amicably and telling them how she found him all alone and how she and her husband are helping him get back on his feet. Most are sympathetic to his plight, and with each word she says, he can see their initial suspicion at meeting an outsider begin to fade.

As they exit that last shop, Harry watches her with a new appreciation. He wonders briefly if the little scenes were intentional on her part, and figures it’s answer enough when she winks at him over her shoulder as the bookkeeper, a loud, stocky man named Lynn, claps a friendly hand against Harry’s shoulder in farewell.

Over the next few days, Harry is certain that his story will be spread throughout the alley. 

His theory is confirmed two days later when Aoide sends him to a rare goods shop (Harry didn't bother asking exactly what type of rare goods as he figured sometimes it's better not to know) near the entrance to Knockturn and three different people, all who he has never met before, wave and greet him by name as he passes. It’s vaguely unsettling, but he smiles back and stops to shake their hands, learning their names and occupations before moving on again. The lack of malice or ulterior motive leaves him feeling wrongfooted, and he figures this trip to the past might actually be a good thing. After all, it probably isn’t healthy to expect an attack from every person you meet.

Useful, sure. But definitely not healthy.

“Good afternoon,” the owner greets him as he walks in the door. He comes out from behind the counter and offers his hand for Harry to shake after wiping on a piece of stained cloth.  “What can I do for you?”

“Afternoon, sir,” Harry says as he shakes the man’s hand. “I’m here to pick up Aoide’s order.”  

Aoide could have easily owled or flooed the store, he knows, but she’s determined to integrate him into the alley. He’s not yet sure what the overarching goal is, but since he can’t foresee any harm coming from it, he’s decided to play along.

“Ah, then you must be Harry. It’s a pleasure to meet you, son. The name’s Edmond.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Harry looks around the shop as he says it, and feels almost dizzy at the array of moving parts and magical fields that make up the shop’s inventory.  “I’m actually not entirely sure what I’m here to pick up.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Edmond says with a fond chuckle as he wanders behind the counter and bends over to grab a package wrapped in a foil-like material. “That woman can be as scatterbrained as they come, some days. Still sharp as a hippogriff’s talon, though.” 

Harry watches as the man unwraps the package and pulls out a jar of something soft and shiny, looking almost like fish eggs.

“Why aren’t you using magic?” Harry asks. At the man’s raised eyebrow, Harry gestures to where he’s dumped out the jar’s contents into a wooden tray and is sorting through the spherical objects one by one. “Wouldn’t it be easier.”

“I suppose it would be,” the man says. “But these are pixie eggs, and they’re just as likely to explode as they are to do what you want when you use magic on them.” 

“Huh,” Harry said as he steps closer, bending over to observe the spheres more closely. He decides not to spend too much time wondering what Aoide needs pixie eggs for. Honestly, he stands by his decision from before. Sometimes it truly is better not to know. “I didn’t know that.”

“Not many do.” The man finishes splitting the eggs into three piles and sweeps the smallest into a cloth bag, pulling its drawstring shut and setting it on the edge of the counter near Harry. “Most people are of the opinion that magic is always the easiest way to get things done.”

Harry snorts derisively in agreement, and the man shoots a pleased grin his way.

“I’m glad you feel the same,” he says. “Why, back when I was your age, witches and wizards still had some sense. Nowadays, though, it’s all about fancy wand waving over substance.”

Harry would love to tell him it only gets worse from here, but he figures that would be too hard to explain. Instead, he nods along as the man rambles, holding the jar for him as he tips the rest of the eggs back inside before sealing the lid back on. 

Once the man has returned the jar to it’s proper containment, he places his hands on his hips and peers shrewdly at Harry, pursing his lips. 

“Is everything alright?” Harry asks as he picks up the bag. 

The man strokes his chin and nods slowly.

“Yes,” he says softly. “Everything is quite alright.”

“Great,” Harry says. He cradles the bag in his hands and begins to back toward the door. “I’d better get these to Aoide, then. It was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise,” the man says as Harry lets the door fall shut behind him. Even after he’s left the store, he feels as if he’s being watched, so he hurries back to the Leaky Cauldron as fast as he can without jostling the pixie eggs. 

He’s relatively certain that Edmond means no harm, but still. Something about him is strange, and Harry has had quite enough of strange back in his own time, thank you very much.

His life is complicated enough already, what with the time travel and other shenanigans he’s gotten up to over the years.

He’s rather looking forward to a peaceful stay here in the past.

After all, no one knows him here.

How could he possibly get into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a new sideblog on tumblr for hp/lv (along with other hp) stuff so [come yell at me](https://being-luminous.tumblr.com/) about updating!! it's very new so there's not a lot of content, but i'll probably post about updates and maybe even other things i write that don't make it onto ao3 
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets an introduction to the Dark Sidetm and encounters a familiar face

Just over a week after his unfortunate arrival into the past, Harry has started working at Edmond’s shop to repay Aoide and Hank for letting him stay at the Leaky Cauldron.

He still isn’t entirely sure how he ended up working for Edmond of all people, but he’s certain Aoide had something to do with it. One day, he had walked into Edmond’s shop to complete another errand and when he left, he was officially an employee. To be more specific, he was an employee who was being paid far too much. When he tries to confront Edmond about, it the man just waves off his concerns and tells him to get back to sorting inventory. He does that a lot, Harry notices, especially when the answer might not be something Harry wants to hear. He asks Aoide about it one night, but she simply smiles at him and tells him how nice it is that he’s found something to occupy his time over the summer.

The second thing Harry learns about Edmond, after the fact that he never gives out his last name if he can help it, is that his shop of “rare goods” is not entirely safe or legal. Honestly, he should have seen that one coming.

“Um, sir? What’s this?” Harry calls as he peers into a cabinet that towers over him. Inside, a collection of what appears to be beaded necklaces hangs from a large hook, although they look entirely too large for a human to wear. He leans closer and frowns when he notices the texture of the beads. They look like large teeth, almost, or bones carved into teeth. Harry takes a step back. His most recent experience with magic that used bone has had a lasting effect, and the thought of how many skeletons went into the making of these necklaces is rather disturbing when he lets himself think about it.

He doesn’t touch them (he’s learned that particular lesson rather forcefully, thank you very much), but he finds he doesn’t need to.

Edmond’s shop is full of objects that practically radiate magic, and these necklaces are no different. To be more precise, they _are_ different, but only in the sense that their magic is significantly more foul. Before he can investigate any further, Edmond hurries over, looking concerned. When he sees what Harry has stumbled upon, however, his concern melts away.

Harry spares a brief moment to wondering what in this shop could be dangerous enough to warrant such concern, but before he can give it too much thought, Edmond begins his explanation.

“These, Harry, are bone circles that have been pre-made to save the caster the trouble of collecting the bones themselves. They’re a very particular subset of casting circles used for some very particular rituals.” He sounds almost proud. “Not many people on either side of the alley carry them.”

“Right, and do these particular rituals happen to be dark?” Harry asks plainly, already knowing the answer.

“Some, yes,” Edmond says, unbothered.

“That’s not a problem?”

“Not particularly, no.” Edmond grabs one of the cabinet doors and moves it so Harry can see that between two thin pieces of wood is a layer of the same foil-like material that was used to contain the jar of pixie eggs from his first visit to the shop. “You see this? It acts as an insulator against magical signatures. Even if an auror did stop by, they’d never even notice these were here.”

“Which would be bad,” Harry says, “Because these are illegal.”

Edmond wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Illegal is such a strong word.”

“Yes but in this case it happens to be the correct one,” Harry says. How the hell does he manage to get into these situations? Honestly, sometimes he impresses himself.

“Do you know _why_ they’re banned, Harry?” Edmond asks.

“I assume it’s because they’re dark magic and are used to hurt people.”

“Well, you’re certainly right about them being dark magic, but the most common use for bone circles is blessing rituals.”

“ _Dark_ blessing rituals,” Harry says. Edmond ignores him.

“Blessing rituals that don’t hurt anyone but have been labeled dark by the Ministry simply because it is old magic which they cannot control.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Don’t you trust me?” At Harry’s blank look, Edmond smiles approvingly at him before gesturing to the collection of books that lines the far wall. “Feel free to check for yourself.”

Harry does check, but he makes sure to confirm it with books from outside Edmond’s inventory as well. When he discovers that Edmond is right, he isn’t sure what to think. If his fifth year at Hogwarts has taught him anything, it’s that the Ministry is not be trusted blindly. But just because they’re wrong about some things doesn’t mean they’re wrong about everything.

After all, in his research he finds multiple mentions of bone circles being used for rituals that rain pestilence down upon entire villages, something Edmond conveniently forgot to mention.

So.

He’s working for someone who may or may not be a dark wizard. It’s fantastic.

Hermione would most certainly tell him how foolish it is to stay.

But thinking about Hermione makes him think about the DA and Sirius and everything else he’s left in the future which threatens to spiral into a mess of panic and nausea that’s been building since he first arrived, so he quickly shoves that thought away. He doesn’t have time to deal with that right now.

And it’s not like he has that much of a choice when it comes to employment, really. Considering he was dropped here with no identity, no school records, and no money, he figures he’s doing alright.

In the days following the bone circle incident, Harry is determined to cling to whatever ignorance of Edmond’s nature that he can, but the man refuses to let him. Instead, he’s apparently decided that Harry has earned a full tour of his shop, and so he is shown every single piece of inventory that could be construed as dark.

As they go, Edmond gives him a list of references on the history and regulation of each object.

Harry almost appreciates the new information, but for the most part it just makes him think about all of the things he was blissfully unaware of in his own time, and he doesn’t appreciate the headache it brings. By the end of Edmond’s tour, which lasts about a week, he has an alarming (although thankfully surface level) knowledge of many dark and pseudo-dark artifacts that he would probably be better off without.

According to Edmond, none of the objects in his shop are made for causing harm, but Harry has yet to forget the way he didn’t tell the whole truth about the bone circles, so he does his best to maintain a healthy amount of skepticism.

If it weren’t for the fact that the more he learns here, the more prepared he’ll be when he needs to face dark magic in his own time, he doesn’t think he’d be able to be as receptive as he is. He figures the shock of being dropped into an entirely new time may have something to do with it as well.

For the most part, as long as Edmond doesn’t try to make him practice any dark magic himself, he figures he’s safe.

What discomfort he is feeling must be obvious, however, because Aoide corners him a few days later as he works through one of the books Edmond let him borrow. He’s taken to reading in one of the booths that line the walls of the pub, as the low hum of people talking in the background helps him concentrate. Additionally, the majority of the patrons are concentrated at the counter and the tables closest to the kitchen, so he has some semblance of privacy as he reads.

Well, most of the time.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Aoide asks.

At the sound of her voice, Harry nearly slams the book shut and only just manages not to flinch. In an attempt to disguise his guilty reaction, he sits up from where he’s been hunched over the book and smiles up at her.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, “I’m just a little overwhelmed.” He gestures to the book and Aoide nods in understanding. She sits down across from him and grabs the book to see what he’s been reading. Harry lets her take it with no resistance. He wants to know how she’ll react to him reading about something that’s borderline dark.

“Rituals?” She asks as she reads, “I didn’t know you had an interest?”

“I don’t,” Harry says, and it’s mostly the truth, although it would have been even more true if he’d been asked only a month ago. “I found something in Edmond’s shop last week, and he told me to read this.”

“Ah, I understand.” Aoide leans toward him, smiling conspiratorially. “What did you see?”

“What?” Harry asks, caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “Oh, um. I saw some casting circles made of bone and then he pretty much showed me everything he has in stock.”

“Everything?” She presses a hand to her heart. “Oh dear. Well, what do you think?”

“Er, I don’t know, actually.”

Aoide nods and pats the back of his hand comfortingly.

“That’s completely natural,” she says, “Don’t spend too much time worrying about these things, dearie. There’s no harm in knowing.”

She gets up to go back to preparing for the dinner rush and Harry calls out to her, “Are you-” Before he can finish the thought, he bites his lip and looks back down at the book, suddenly unsure. 

“What was that?” Aoide asks. She looks over her shoulder at Harry, and he clears his throat and flicks his gaze away.

“I was just going to say that I can’t tell if he’s trying to convert me or if he’s actually just really enthusiastic about this stuff,” he says with his best attempt at humor.

Aoide just laughs and shakes her head at him, almost indulgently, before leaving him to his reading. Harry watches her go, feeling uneasy and not entirely sure why.

…

Although he gladly takes advantage of the man’s supply of books, Harry spends the next week determined to ignore any and all attempts made by Edmond to actually talk to him about dark magic. While he is a knowledgeable and eager source of information, something Harry has been sorely lacking in his life up to this point, he’s also a little bit creepy with his enthusiasm, so Harry resolves himself to finding the answers to his questions elsewhere.

It’s not that he thinks everything dark is evil, Professor Lupin is a perfect example to the contrary, but he’s honest enough to admit to himself that some of this stuff is unsettling, and it bothers him to hear Edmond talk about it with such relish.

As a result, Harry finds himself exploring further into Diagon and the surrounding alleys, Knockturn excluded, for information. He knows he’ll need to brave Knockturn eventually, especially since it’s so popular with Voldemort’s followers in his own time, but he figures he can work up to it.

It is one such exploration, nearly two weeks later, that leads him to his first encounter with someone he recognizes from his own time.

Unlike Diagon, which hosts shops of all sorts and is heavily trafficked, Ide Alley is clearly intended to serve a more elite crowd. It's smaller than Diagon, but the street is paved with neat, mosaic like stonework that shines like glass in the sun, and the storefronts look polished, bright and somewhat intimidating. Additionally, there are no peddlers calling out their latest deals. Instead, the street is dotted with planters containing trees and exotic flowers alongside the occasional bench.

It’s the sort of place Malfoy and his goons might be found on a nice summer day, and it’s sickening.

However, in addition to being quite snobbish, it’s also, Harry has discovered, the best place to find books on dark and banned magic outside of Knockturn and Arbor (which is less of a single alley and more a maze like collection of side streets occupied by Wizarding London’s more transient residents). He supposes it does make sense, though, as having a bit of extra money lying about probably makes it easier to escape Ministry regulations.

Harry is quite certain that the only reason Edmond is able to get away with some of his more questionable inventory is because of his proximity to Knockturn.

Because it really is the best place to reliably find the information he’s looking for and not have to risk injury to get it, Harry often frequents Ide Alley, doing his best to ignore the disapproving looks he gets for his less than pristine robes each time he visits.

Recently, he’s put his exploration into ritual magic on hold and started researching the topic of how magic relates to space and time. While the topic itself is not generally associated with dark magic, it’s study is heavily restricted due to its potentially dangerous nature, so he’s had to resort to the more selective bookshops that are found in Ide.

He stumbled upon this particular bookshop earlier in the week, but this is the first chance he's had to look through the shelves. He’s just added another book to the already precarious pile in his arms when he turns to exit the aisle and knocks into another customer, sending his books tumbling to the floor. Reflexively, Harry snatches them out of the air, wandlessly and wordlessly, and it doesn’t occur to him that this might have been a mistake until he looks up and meets a pair of familiar blue eyes.

Standing before him is Albus Dumbledore, younger than Harry has ever seen but still managing to have the same infuriatingly knowing twinkle in his eyes.

Harry freezes.

He’s been here long enough that he really should be prepared by now to run into people he might recognize, but he has no idea how he wants to handle this. Ideally, he could just ignore the man and disappear, but he has no idea how to apparate and it would probably be a bit strange if he just popped away for no reason, anyway. So. This is something he has to deal with. Preferably without causing lasting damage to himself or the timeline and wow is that a thought he never expected to have again.

“Excuse me,” he says as he tears his gaze away and ducks his head. He attempts to go around the man, but the aisles formed by the shelves are tight, and Dumbledore isn’t moving.

“That was an impressive bit of magic,” Dumbledore says, peering intently down at him, and Harry wants to cringe or maybe melt into the floor.

He clutches his books tighter to his chest and takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ve been practicing.”

With no real friends in this time (he refuses to consider Aoide or Edmond friends since they’re decades older than him and also maybe actively trying to corrupt him to the dark side) and only books on magical theory to keep him busy after he leaves work, he’s had a lot of spare time to practice his magic. In doing so, he's discovered, with the help of a text that may or may not be illuminated with human blood and the (maybe) vampire who forced it upon him, that he’s actually rather proficient at wandless magic when he doesn’t let his thoughts get in the way.

“What’s you name, young man?” Dumbledore asks, and only the fact that Harry knows him in the future keeps him from feeling too suspicious. He’s still a little suspicious, of course, because he doesn’t know _this_ Dumbledore, but fuck it. It’s all too confusing for him to think of at the moment, so he pushes thoughts of suspicion and timelines aside and devotes himself to not painting a target on his back in front of one of the most powerful wizards in existence.

Luna once spent over a week calling him various names that Harry could be short for every time they saw each other, and although he didn’t mind Harrison or Harod, as they sounded rather distinguished and wizard-like, he figures Henry is the least likely of the lot to stand out, so he’s elected to use it now.

“Henry Moore, sir, but I go by Harry.” After a short pause that feels incredibly awkward, Harry remembers that this Dumbledore has never met him before and since Grindelwald has yet to be defeated, it probably wouldn’t make sense for Harry to recognize him. “And you?”

“Albus Dumbledore,” he says with short bow. “Deputy Headmaster and Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen you at Hogwarts, Mr. Moore. Where did you study?”

Harry feeds him the same story he gave Aoide when he was finally given the opportunity to introduce himself.

“I was homeschooled, sir. My parents travelled a lot." He isn’t sure how the Hogwarts admission system works, but he hopes traveling outside the country in his youth is a good enough reason why his name wouldn’t show up on any list.

When Dumbledore doesn’t immediately respond, he feels an urge to say more. However, as he learned very early on, the fastest way to make someone suspicious is to give too much information too quickly, so he keeps quiet.

“They taught you well,” Dumbledore says with a kind smile. Harry does his best to smile back, but he knows it probably doesn’t look very convincing. “If you would like to continue your education, Hogwarts would gladly take you on as a student.”

“I haven’t taken my OWLs,” Harry says. He tilts his head curiously, wondering if this is a ploy to keep him in Dumbledore’s sights, if the man already suspects something is off about him. “What makes you think I’d be able to keep up?”

“Mr. Moore, you just performed a controlled summoning charm without the use of your wand. At the very least, you most certainly have the necessary power.” He says it as if it’s obvious, and Harry feels a blush spread across his cheeks and scowls. He’ll have to watch his use of wandless magic in the future if he doesn't want to draw too much attention to himself. Luckily, this won't be too hard to achieve since all of his attempts at premeditated wandless magic have been largely unsuccessful so far.

Although, if he has to draw anyone’s attention, he supposes Dumbledore’s is the least dangerous.

Well, probably.

Maybe.

“At least consider it, Mr. Moore,” Dumbledore says, “Hogwarts is always on the lookout for talented students.”

“Right,” Harry says faintly. It really is a generous offer, especially with a Dark Lord at large and casting suspicion everywhere. “I will, thank you. It was nice to meet you.”

With that said, Harry finally manages to step around the man and head for the end of the aisle. He needs to get out of this shop so he can sequester himself in his room at the Leaky Cauldron and give this the consideration and panic it deserves.

“Oh, and, Mr. Moore?” Harry pauses and looks over his shoulder. Dumbledore is watching him knowingly. “If you do elect to attend Hogwarts this September, I'm afraid I must inform you that the books you’re holding are strictly forbidden.”

Harry’s grip on the books tightens, and he feels himself bristle in response to the man’s comment. All Dumbledore does is watch him with a genial look on his face. After a tense moment, Harry forces himself to nod, unsure how he’s supposed to respond.

There goes his plan for not being noticed.

As Harry exits the aisle, he feels Dumbledore's magic follow close behind him, and he doesn't appreciate the way it feels almost threatening at his back. When he turns around to confront him, however, Dumbledore takes the opportunity to add another book to the pile in his arms and says, “I suggest you finish them quickly.”

With one last enigmatic smile, the man bows his head and sweeps out the door, leaving Harry to stand alone in the center aisle and wonder what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think Harry is accepting this whole time travel and dark magic nonsense a little bit too easily then you are absolutely correct. 
> 
> I got sidetracked halfway through this chapter and wrote out a bunch of extra stuff that doesn't really apply to the plot (not yet, anyway) but contributes much to world building which is lowkey one of my favorite parts of fanfic. As it always goes with my fics, however, way more is left out than I would like. It's necessary to keep the story moving though, especially since my pace is already pretty slow. As you can see I eventually managed to write the second half. It just took a bit longer than I expected.
> 
> Oh and fyi I'll probably change the summary at some point because I'm not at all satisfied with it. 
> 
> Finally, come talk to me on [tumblr](https://being-luminous.tumblr.com)! I'm not very active at the moment, but I'm hoping to change that soon. Also!! I'm always open for prompts, so don't be shy!!


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